


Only in Death

by MissingInMayhem



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Suicide, ftm character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 16:19:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4107250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissingInMayhem/pseuds/MissingInMayhem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was feeling pretty shitty one night and decided to take it out on poor Cronus. I'm sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only in Death

Your name is Candie Ampora. It always has been and always will be. You are 9 sweeps old and right now you hate yourself more than anything else in the world.

Your name is Candie and you are 7 and a half sweeps old. You stand in front of your bathroom mirror and slowly pull off your shirt. The image that faces back at you is one that has been there for all your life. Your eyes trace your silhouette- glancing over your newly forming wigglelumps, down past your gills and settling at your softly curving hips. Your eyes flick up to your face and you reach out to touch the mirror. It's cold under your fingertips, shocking you out of the dreamlike state you were in. You breath in sharply, retracting your hand, and quickly pull your shirt back on. Looking back you realize that this was the beginning. 

Your name is Candie and you are 9 sweeps old. You stand in front of the same mirror now, staring at yourself just as you did then. Your chest is covered in bandages and your stomach is sunken in, making your hips stick out more than they should. You pull your shirt back on and grimace.

Your name is Candie and you are 8 sweeps old. You once again tell your lusus that you aren't hungry and hide in your room to avoid their questions. You haven't eaten a full meal in perigrees, but you tell yourself that's the way it has to be. You look at yourself in the mirror every night before you go to sleep. You watch as your body changes. You tell yourself that you will be beautiful one day as long as you keep this up. You tell yourself that one day you won't hate your reflection.

Your name is Candie and you are 9 sweeps old. You remember the things you told yourself when you were younger. You tell yourself now that you were lying. You still hate your reflection, but now you want to be anything but beautiful.

Your name is Candie and you are 8 sweeps old. You find yourself watching sappy romance movies and hating the way they tell you to act. You hate that the girls are always helpless pushovers. You find yourself wishing that you could be the hero instead. When you tell your friend they laugh at you, telling you to stop overthinking everything.

Your name is Candie and you are 9 sweeps old. You wish more than anything that you could've taken that advice. You wish that you could be like everybody else. You wish that you didn't hate everything about yourself.

Your name is Candie and you are 8 sweeps old. Most of your friends are having sex and they wonder why you aren't. You know that they whisper about you behind your back and it makes you feel like you're broken. You think it's something you want but you're afraid. You hate the way you look and you wonder if anyone would want you.

Your name is Candie and you are 9 sweeps old. You have decided that no one will ever want you. You tell yourself that you will never be loved or desired. You watch your friend fill quadrants while you stand alone. You had a morail once, but he found someone better and left you behind.

Your name is Candie and you are 9 sweeps old. Your name has long since become foreign to you, leaving a bitter ring in your ears whenever it's used. You realize now that the feeling of wrongness you got whenever you saw yourself was not because you weren't beautiful, but because you weren't built right. You look back into the mirror now, resenting the curve in your hips, resenting the sacs of flesh that hang from your chest, resenting the round face and the bow lips, resenting the girl staring back at you.

Your name is Candie and you are 9 sweeps old. You are standing in front of your bathroom mirror fighting back tears as you write a letter to the only friend that didn't laugh you out of the room. You write to apologize for the pain you will surely cause when he reads what you've written, for the black he will have to wear instead of the bright color he usually does, for the tears only he will shed.

Your name is Candie and you are 9 sweeps old. Earlier today you gathered your friends and told them the most important thing you've told anyone. They told you that you were crazy. They called you a freak and laughed in your face. You turned and walked away, trying not to let them see the violet streaking down your cheeks.

Your name is Candie and you are 9 sweeps old. You finish your letter, tucking it in the pocket of your jacket and pulling out your switchblade. You set it on the counter and open the medicine cabinet, taking out a bottle of the strongest sleeping pills you have. You turn on the water and swallow the entire bottle two pills at a time. They burn your throat and your stomach is sore from the amount of water it takes to get them down. You grab your switchblade and flick it open. There's a knock at the door downstairs and you freeze. He wasn't supposed to find you. You grimace as your stomach churns painfully and place the blade to your wrist. You hear footsteps coming up the steps and close your eyes, cutting deeply across. Tears flow over and you open your eyes, seeing violet burble out of the cut you'd made. He's knocking at the door and you panic, cutting deep and fast down the length of your arm. You make a small cry at the pain and you can hear the worry in his voice but you can't make out the words he's saying. The pills are starting to kick in and the edges of your vision go fuzzy and dark. You raise the blade to your throat as he opens the door. You hear him cry out and feel his hands on your arm trying to pull the knife away. You feel sharp pain and the world starts to spin. You are aware that you have fallen and the floating feeling in your head tells you that you cannot breathe. You feel warm hands on your face and see the blurry outline of his head above you and then everything goes blank.

Your name was Candie and you were 9 sweeps old. All of your friends come to your funeral, dropping flowers at your grave before leaving. He was the only one that stayed longer than he had to. He found your letter later that night and cried for hours, but you don't know that and you never will. You will never know that he sat at your grave and carved out the name, replacing it with another.

Your name is Cronus Ampora, but only in death.


End file.
